Gifted
by Quennie
Summary: Time has a way of changing the most harsh of emotions. Trapped in a curse to repeat his destiny, is this Erik's second chance with the woman he loves, or will history repeat itself? Modern AU.
1. Default Chapter

Summary: Time has a way of changing the most harsh of emotions. Trapped in a curse to repeat his destiny, is this Erik's second chance with the woman he loves, or will history repeat itself? Modern/ AU.

Dear Reader,

So this story has been spinning in my head for months, and I finally decided to try it out! It is a mix ofLeroux, Kay, and don't laugh, Robert Englund's version of POTO.

It isAU, a modern fic, and though it doesn't seem like it in the first chapter- it willcome togethereventually. Be warned- this is not a happy story- lots of angst, and probally not a happy ending.

I believe Christine and Erik are meant to have a tragic affair that spans to the supernatural- The whole jest of this story is to investigate fate, and faith- andwhat ifhistory can repeat itself.

For those of you wondering- my phantom is Gerard-ish . . .

_Well- on with the story! Enjoy!_

Many Blessings,

Queenie

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_From the Memoirs of Vicomtess Christine de Chagny_

_Uppsala-_

_The Coast of Scandinavia, 1873_

_Raoul has tried to keep me to my rooms, but the sea (as it always does) calls to me. In the salty wind and bare feet of my youth I once ran along these shores with my father. His violin in one hand, and my small boots in the other- discarded by my frantic need to run into the rising tide._

_But the past is dead._

_The babe that grows in my belly does not let me sleep- leaving me to walk the corridors of the manor every night. I know I should rest- but I find myself restless with needle point and reading._

_Sometimes I find myself grasping for breathe from the weight of this life growing in me. The local doctor protests my activity, urging me to bed rest, but I can not bare it. _

_I can see the worry in my Love's eyes. He needn't waste his thoughts-_

_I do not fear my providence, one so tangled with death already. I have chosen my fate with tears and blood. I do not regret it._

_How can I when Raoul's eyes look into mine, when I feel the kick of my child._

_God will have his blessings or curses upon my soul. I have sinned greatly against another- just as he wallows in blood so shall I walk in ambiguity. His plight I have carried far to this coast to keep me company on sleepless nights._

_If he is cursed, so I will my soul be intertwined in flames._

* * *

The young Vicomte paced the corridor outside of his wife's chambers. His hands fooling idly with a cigarette that would never be lit, he slouched into the chair adjacent to her door.

The room was once filled with cries of pain, and commands of the midwife, but in the last few minutes silence covered the corridor with a chilling atmosphere that matched the frigid weather outside.

The Vicomte stood immediately as the door was opened and the doctor emerged somberly. The elderly man looked at Raoul with an intense calm. Raoul lowered his eyes to the blood stained apron the doctor had covering his suit- and the deep red clothe the older gentleman wiped his hands with.

The elder man cleared his throat.

"She tried her best, Sir." It was barely a whisper.

The comment tainted the air like a bad smell.

As Raoul approached the doorway the doctor put on hand on the young man's shoulder.

"I am truly sorry."

In Christine's room the embers still glowed in the fireplace. A midwife scurried past as she carried red water in a basin to be disposed of.

His wife's blood.

Her form was laid out on the canopy bed, curls splattered against the white sheets. Still in the linen nightshift he had kissed her good-night in, the ends were now gathered at her hips, crumpled and wet with her perspiration.

Bending over her lifeless body, still with the drops of sweat from labor covering her face and neck, the young husband smoothed a curl from her face.

_So cold._

Her eyes, comatose, still held the expression of pain. His fingers gently closed him with a sigh of grief.

_Oh, my Love. _

Not able to stand the sight any longer, he turned to leave.

"Sir."

Raoul turned to see the midwife holding a small bundle in her arms.

"Your son."

With a cry of grief, the Vicomte clinched his hands as he took the child. So this was the being that stole his mother's life. Tiny hands, feet, purplish skin and sandy blond hair already emerging atop the infants head- Raoul stroked the babe's check with his thumb.

_Oh Christine, if you could only see the fruit of your labor. _

"Thomas." He uttered. He could not spend another second in the presence of his dead wife, his little rat of a son. The anger and bitterness came in waves, and he was so ashamed of the disgust he had for the infant.

"Sir?" The midwife questioned.

"His name is Thomas."

Disposing his charge back to the arms of the elderly woman, he turned his head.

"I wish not to be disturbed."

With a slam of the door, the Vicomte said goodnight, the midwife still looking on in shock. She looked down at the baby with a sigh of pity.

"Welcome to the world, little Thomas."

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read. review. please? 


	2. pilgrimage

The Gift

Chapter 1- Pilgrimage

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**_The Garnier International Academy_**

_**Study in the Beautiful and Enchanting City of Paris**_

_In the great legacy of the talented Charles Garnier, GIA has been enriching the education of Visual and Performing Artists for over fifty years. With pupils from thirty different countries, and faculty representing the crème de la crème of their fields, the diversity of GIA is supreme and sublime!_

_Founded by Garnier's estate in 1953, The Garnier International Academy has been achieving excellence that spans decades._

_GIA offers five areas of study;_

_Voice (musical performance)_

_Instrumental performance_

_Choreography and Dance_

_Art Production (Set Design)_

_Costume Design and Textiles_

_GIA has a faculty of twenty six and therefore only accepts fifty five applicants. The year long program is intense; consisting of core and elective study, one-on-one apprenticeship, and competitive opportunity within the Opera Company._

_We hope that you will consider joining us on our year long adventure into a new frontier of Visual and Performance Excellence and discovery._

_Wishing you a Successful Future,_

_Bertrand Laroche_

_ Dean of Admissions_

* * *

French countryside sped past the window, while a baby cried, and a gang of ruffians cursed under their breath at the shaking cable as it came to a stop.

'_It would be my luck that this train would wreck.' _

Another jerk from the railcar fueled another rough sigh.

All her life, Sophia Anders had believed she was cursed. It would only make sense that the railcar which carried her to freedom- would crash before she even had a chance to stretch her legs.

Gripping the carry-on she had perched on her lap, Sophia adjusted her headphones to escape back into the paradise that was _Miles Davis_.

_Yes, this was freedom_.

Sisters of the Holy Family Convent didn't like Miles Davis. Well, to put it gravely- the Sister's didn't like much of anything modern. Music filled the hallways of the convent, but it was always raised to God, to faith- the women's voices echoing through the cracks of Sophia's door nightly as a vigil to perfect holiness.

It was beautiful beyond words- it was the backbone of her memories.

But all the other music she missed!

Sophia played with the envelop she held in her hand.

_To My Petite Sophia_

She hadn't the courage to open it, yet. Her hands clasped it, running over the elegant calligraphy. Sophia's face smiled at the thought of who wrote it.

A fuzzy voice came over the intercom. _Gare d'Austerlitz!_

She was in Paris already!

The cabin started to rustle with travelers gathering their children, their luggage, and flipping through English to French dictionaries granted - they need to converse with a local.

Sophia looked out the giant window to her right to gaze at the compact Parisian streets before her, the apartment buildings, the tiny motor cars, the odd smell coming from the air ducts. The butterflies she had suppressed throughout her flight came back ten fold, almost causing her hands to lose their grip on the letter.

She went over the instructions her advisor sent her.

_3 pm- meet shuttle at Gare d'Austerlitz ( via shuttle port)_

_3: 50pm- depart for GIA dormitories and orientation_

Sophia subconsciously tucked her turtleneck sweater closer to her neck as she gathered her shoulder bag, carry-on, and suitcase near the exit of the railcar. A French voice begun to talk over the intercom, followed by instructions in English, then Spanish, German, and Italian- as travelers begun to push their way onto the platform beyond the exit. Sophia reached the platform to look around at the sea of people making their way to other rails heading to other various districts, or up to the streets of Paris to make the pilgrimage to hotels and hostiles on foot.

She looked for directions and, after walking a little further, past a few gift shops and tee shirt stands- a sign for shuttle pick-up came into view. Feeling slightly like a pack mule she made her way up the stairs to the street above. Up the stairs was another platform with hotel, business, and tourist shuttles, limos, and charter buses all in rows with drivers, in their suits and ties, waiting outside. Some drivers held signs, some were helping passengers load luggage, but most just stood there bored or indifferent.

Sophia looked around, until her eyes fell upon a slim redhead wearing a business suit with a cigarette in one hand and cell phone in another. Behind her was a bright red banner on the side of a giant charter bus that read "GARNIER INTERNATIONAL ACADEMY". The redhead seemed to be screaming German to some poor soul on the other end of her mobile while taking a drag every few erratic gestures. As Sophia neared the woman, she saw her nametag read:

_Ms. Roxanne Greyhoff_

_Public Relations Coordinator_

Nearing the bus, Sophia took a big breath as she gripped her luggage. The redhead didn't seem to notice her approach, or chose to ignore her, while still yelling into the mobile.

"No! No! We have three more students, Fredrich! You expect me to squish them! That is unacceptable! _Unacceptable_!" The redhead seemed to suddenly notice someone standing in front of her, covered her hand over the receiver and huffed, "Can I help you!"

Sophia looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Suddenly her mouth was dry and word came much harder with the redhead's intense stare.

"Yes . . .um . ."

The redhead used Sophia's shyness to take another drag from her cigarette.

"Listen- I don't have all day. Are you on the list?"

Sophia nodded profusely.

The Redhead looked annoyed as she eyed her clipboard, then Sophia, then back to the clipboard.

"Your name?"

"Sophia Anders."

The Redhead held up her finger suddenly and instantly she was yelling on the phone again.

"No! No- _NO_! Fredrich- you get your big German ass down her with another shuttle or I will drop kick you back to Berlin- you hear me! _GOOD_!"

Clamping her phone closed in frustration, she took another drag, sighed, closed her eyes for a few seconds, then opened them realizing that Sophia was still there. Staring down at the girl before her, she smiled, a fake smile, but a smile non-the-less.

"Now, Miss Anders," The readhead looked down at her clipboard, " from Nova Scotia . . art production . . ._appropriate- you wouldn't survive one day on the stage_-" she pause to grin at her own joke. Forgetting herself, she quickly returned to her stern demeanor,

"Very well, I am Ms. Greyhoff- I will be your guide this afternoon. If you have any questions or concerns- try to ameliorate them yourself, _but if you must_, I will try my best to help you. Give you luggage to the driver and take a seat on the shuttle. We will be departing shortly."

Still slightly gawking, Sophia turned to the driver that was waiting to take her luggage. She slung her shoulder bag over one side and her carry-on over the other shoulder as she walked the little steps of the bus. As she ascended the isle a dozen eyes met her and she had to clench her palms to tolerate the scrutiny of so many faces analyzing hers.

She pasted a cluster of Japanese girls, giggling as she walked by, followed by two guys chatting in Italian.

It seemed that as soon as she was half way down the isle, however, her presence was forgotten, for no one even kept interest as she neared the back of the shuttle.

Sophia sighed as she slumped into the back row.

Soon her headphones were back on, and a pamphlet on Paris was flipped open on her lap. As she read about the _Eiffel Tower_ she noticed out of the corner of her eye the seats around her being filled, and by the time she finished a paragraph on the _Bastille_ another person was sitting next to her. She took off her headphones to introduce herself to the guy next to her, but all she received was his back- he was already in conversation with the girl across the isle from him. Sophia sighed, looked out the window, and begun to bite her nails (one of her many bad habits).

Suddenly the bus begun to lurch, and to Sophia's relief, the end of her passage was coming to a close. The bus hummed while weaved in and out of traffic, passing cathedrals and cafes.

Ms. Greyhoff took control of the shuttle's intercom, and begun to greet the students dryly in every language.

"Ahead of you is an adventure of a lifetime," Ms. Greyhoffs monotone voice piped through the speaker above their heads. The obviously rehearsed speech paused as she looked down back at her clipboard.

"The Garnier International Academy has enriched the futures of students from over thirty countries . . ."

_Was she reading the brochure!_

Sophia clamped her headphones back on her head and watched Paris glide by her window. Someone in front of her leaned far back in their chair, squishing her legs. She looked up to see what was going on, and peering over the back of the chair at her was a brunette with a wide smile on her face.

"Hey- can you _believe_ this lady!"

Sophia grinned. _Finally! A friendly face-_

"It's a relief to see another tourist," The Brunette held up her matching brochure of Paris with a grin on her face, "I got mine in the terminal at Orly."

"Mine, too."

"Ha! Then we just barely missed each other, I bet!" The brunette held out her hand.

"I'm Beatrice Constantino. Just call me Bea."

"Sophia Anders."

The girls shook hands.

Suddenly another head popped up from the seat to the right. A gorgeous dark haired guy began to greet them with a joyous smile.

"No, no, no! You Italian, no?" The guy pointed to Bea. She nodded her head warily.

"You must kiss in greeting! It is the only way-" He grinned in his thick Italian accent. "Hear, I show you-"

Before the girl could react, the Italian guy grabbed her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. "Si! My name is Gino de Luca- I show you how to be a _real_ Italian!"

Bea started to giggle, and had to cover her face with her hands. Sophia reached her hand out to Gino.

"Hi, Gino de Luca, my name is Sophia Anders." Gino reached for her hand, but instead of shaking it, he grabbed it, pulling her forward and kissing her cheeks, as well.

"Lovely to meet you, Sophia."

Sophia just grinned as foolishly as Bea had.

_This was going to be a good year-_

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I am looking for a beta- you can probaly tell by all the spelling/ grammar mistakes- so please help if you can :-)

As always- read and review!

Queenie


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